Angel of the Night (7 page)

“Well chap, I have some good news. Your kidney function tests show an organ that is working at 92% efficiency. That would be a very good number for someone who was in renal failure such a short time ago. In fact, the only people who have a kidney function over 95%, as an adult that is, are competitive runners and swimmers. Since you are a well-conditioned soldier, but not a competitive runner, I’m well pleased with your progress indeed.”

Michael Kitcavage appreciated the good news but asked for more. “What about getting out of here, doc?”

“You will be discharged tomorrow afternoon if there are no further setbacks. We want to keep an eye on you for one more day. We will kick you out the door right after lunch if everything checks out okay. You will need to be on light duty for two weeks, and that duty only at night. Most of all, no more football play during the day. And I mean that. This young lady may not be there to pick up the pieces next time.”

”Thank you, Doctor. I’ll keep that in mind,” Michael said. “Thanks for everything.”

Dr. Jiminu left the room, leaving the young people to celebrate the good news. Wendy marveled again at the easy rapport between Michael and Henry. The two men had been raised thousands of miles apart under very different circumstances. But you would never know, from seeing them together that the two men weren’t brothers, in fact, as well as brothers in arms.

Wendy interrupted her pleasant thought process to announce that she was going to need to take her leave of the room, because of a mandatory staff meeting at the medical center. She told Kitcavage how happy she was that he was going to be released soon, and promised Henry that she would give him a call later. Before Wendy was out of earshot, the two friends were planning the hunting trip that Henry had mentioned to her earlier.

Wendy left the Glynnis Unit, but she didn’t turn east to go back to the main medical center. Instead, she turned in a westerly direction and walked beside the perimeter fence until she arrived just inside the main gate. There she found a black Lincoln Continental with darkened windows. The back passenger side door opened, and Wendy stepped inside.

The big black car pulled smoothly through the main gate of Kabul Air Base and purred quietly down the road. Wendy watched out the window until the camp faded from view and then turned to look at the other person that was in the back seat.  Lt. Major Will Hudspeth finished reading the documents in his hand and looked up at Wendy. “We need to talk, Lt. Shafer.”

Back at the base, the investigation into the killing of Brigadier General Cole McKillop was taking a long time. The initial questioning phase was about 60% complete, but the investigators had made no progress at all in identifying who may have had a motive for taking McKillop down, much less identifying who had committed the actual act.

Lead investigator Terry Bishop’s team of highly trained forensic technicians had checked and double checked the grounds of Kabul Air Base for any sign of the murder weapon. Months into the investigation Bishop was pretty sure that none of his crew was just going to stumble across a random SigSauer, however.

Bishop’s psychological investigative scientists were compiling profiles of all 6600 soldiers on base, as well as the 300 plus non-military support personnel who kept the camp running. Searching through that many files, looking for a connection to a terror cell, was a time consuming and, thus far, fruitless, task. Washington D.C. was beginning to get a little antsy. The Armed Forces committees were asking pointed questions, and Terry Bishop had nothing to tell them to indicate that he was any closer to a solution than he had been the day that he landed in Afghanistan.

“Is it possible that we’re looking too hard for some kind of grand conspiracy?” Bishop said during an informal get-together over sandwiches and soft drinks in their temporary offices. “I mean people go off their nut all the time. Did someone just snap under the heat and stress of this place?”

Donna-Maria Nowakinger had been a crime scene investigator for 15 years before accepting an assignment working terror and counter-terror investigations. Terry Bishop had grown to respect her instincts almost as much as he appreciated her hard work. She was a tireless bulldog when she got into a case. And she was into the case of the killing of General Cole McKillop. She chewed her tuna melt pensively while thinking about Bishop’s question.

“I doubt it, Terry. It would make our job easier, and we would be home that much faster if we could settle on that being the case, but why McKillop? He was so well-liked.”

“Random is random, Ms. Nowakinger. Sometimes stuff just happens, and people go nuts as a result.”

Bishop wadded his sandwich wrapper into a tiny ball and hurled it into the wastebasket against the wall. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes wearily. “I know that probably isn’t it, but I’ll be damned if I can figure it out. So far, everyone checks out.”

“We will get our guy,” Nowakinger said to Bishop. “You know that as well as I do.”

Henry Washoe showered and donned his finest desert dress attire before leaving his CHU that evening. He had decided that he was going to ask Wendy if she would have dinner with him. Ostensibly the reason was going to be a celebration of the good news that they had acquired at the Glynnis Unit. And, while Henry was certainly elated over Michael Kitcavage’s seemingly miraculous recovery, there was more on his mind than just the health of his friend. Truth told, Henry had found himself thinking about Wendy quite often.

“I can’t help it. She makes me laugh and she makes me think. I wonder how she would feel about North Dak… STOP IT! Good Lord Henry! You haven’t even spent a social evening with her and you’re already wondering how she would do on the spread in North Dakota. You’re pathetic! Do you know what you are? Pathetic!

She is from Wisconsin, though. Cold weather wouldn…HENRY!”

After an extended period of time with a hair brush and a bottle of cologne, Henry made his way across the base to the line of CHUs that were populated by members of the medical staff. Because of the need for fast reaction time, the medical personnel were given the CHUs that were closest to the main door of the medical center. In double-time circumstances a doctor or nurse could be out of bed and scrubbed for an emergency procedure in seven minutes. Captain McGuire had been known to do it in 4:36. His was the base record so far.

Henry’s face fell when he discovered that Wendy wasn’t home. But rather than wasting a robust load of “Obsession” cologne and a hot shower, he wandered into The Afghan Canteen to have a drink and perhaps a rack of pool with a friend. Even The Afghan Canteen made him smile about Wendy, though. He had been an interested observer at the bar when Wendy and Chelsea Giacomo (then Bannister) had pulled a sting operation on a certain lieutenant who had turned out to be more “player” than gentleman.

After the bartender pulled a draft Dos Equis for him and Henry had finished half of it in a swallow, Ted Silver asked him if he wanted to throw some darts. Two games of darts, two wins for Henry, and two beers later Henry realized that an hour and a half had passed since he had been at Wendy’s door. Adios salutations to his friends were in order so Henry could take one more run at the CHU of Miss 2
^nd
Lt. Wendy Shafer.

This time Wendy was home when Henry knocked. As happy as she normally would have been to see Henry and the work he had obviously put into his appearance, she had a lot on her mind, and would have preferred an evening to herself. She put those thoughts aside, though, and gave Henry a warm hug. Henry wrapped her in his big arms and held on. Wendy patted him on the back.

“Henry, you need to let me go. I can’t…breathe.”

Henry stepped back, embarrassed. “I’m sorry Wendy. I was just so happy to see you. You look great!”

Wendy laughed because, though Henry had obviously put a lot of time and effort into his appearance Wendy herself was dressed exactly as Henry had seen her earlier. She had never changed out of the surgical scrubs that she had been in after work. Yet Henry was looking at her with eyes as shiny as if she had been adorned in Cinderella’s ball gown complete with glass slippers. In spite of herself, Wendy was touched and flattered. Unused to such effusive praise, and not all that experienced with men anyway, Wendy did what she almost always did. She turned the compliment around on the one who had complimented her.

“I look the same as I did this afternoon but you clean up real good, Henry Washoe. And is that…” Wendy sniffed the air. “...Obsession that I smell?”

With an even bigger smile wreathing his features Henry stepped forward so that Wendy could have a clearer whiff of his cologne. It was an unnecessary gesture, however, since residents of CHU’s four housing units away were sniffing the air and saying, “Obsession?” Apparently in the area of men’s fragrance no one had ever shared with Henry Washoe the concept that sometimes less is more. In fact, Wendy’s eyes were watering a little. She took her keys out of her purse so that she could walk Henry into the fresh autumn air.

Henry offered his arm to Wendy as they walked across the widest portion of the base. He set a slow pace for more than one reason. First, while two Dos Equis weren’t likely to impair a man of his size, Henry was aware that he had been drinking. As important as it was to him to make a good and lasting impression on Wendy Shafer he didn’t want to lose his balance and appear to be drunk.

But the most important reason to walk slowly was so his friends could see him with Wendy. While Wendy was an attractive young lady she had never been considered a beauty queen in her home town of Racine. But to Henry Washoe she looked better than Sandra Johnston, who had been prom queen at Henry’s high school and, up until now, Henry’s ideal in terms of female loveliness. Henry made sure to greet everyone that he knew on his and Wendy’s stroll across Kabul Air Base. Wendy was amused, but flattered as well.

“This isn’t a walk as much as it is a processional,”
she thought.
What are we, 16 years old?”

But for all of the self-deprecating pooh-pooing Wendy noticed that she couldn’t stop smiling as they made their way toward the only truly nice place to have dinner on the base.

Wendy saw where they were headed and stopped in mid stride. “Henry, I’m not dressed for this place!”

“La Petite Orange”
was the place that an enlisted man took a date if he didn’t mind blowing a half month’s pay on a single dinner. Staffed by two of the finest chefs in Asia, the dinners at
“La Petite Orange”
were legendary for their quality, as well as for the expense incurred by an evening there.

Wendy hadn’t been taken out to a fancy dinner in she didn’t remember how long. During her growing up years in Racine she had always been perceived as too quiet by some of the young male Wisconsin-ites. Like many reserved girls her quiet was often misconstrued as aloof and even stuck-up and superior. The truth was really far from the perception.

Wendy had developed near-sightedness at a young age. When amblyopia (commonly known as “lazy eye”) developed, she had been prescribed an eye patch to try to correct the problem. The social stigma of wearing glasses and an eye patch as well was more than eight year old Wendy Shafer could endure. On her way to school she took the eye patch off. As a result her vision had deteriorated as she entered her teens. She was neither aloof nor stuck up. She couldn’t see!

For junior high school graduation Wendy was given one gift (with a string attached) and one promise. She was given Lasik eye surgery to clear up the near-sightedness, contingent on her willingness to wear an eye patch to correct the amblyopia. Then, upon graduation from high school, and the successful correction of the amblyopia, she would be given a showroom new Ford Mustang in the color of her choice.

Wendy was in her junior year in high school before she noticed a marked improvement in her vision. By this time, her reputation as a studious snob was somewhat established at St. Catherine’s High. She had a grand total of one boyfriend, besides Brad Nicklaus that is, and him for a very short time, during her high school years.

As Wendy sat across from Henry Washoe she remembered the awkward time that she had with her one high school beau, if you could even call him that. His name was Barry King. Wendy had American History with Barry, and they had shared notes from class lectures. Eventually, they had lunch together and were acknowledged in school as a couple. Wendy was shocked to be Barry’s girl. Barry was a basketball player of some renown, and Wendy considered him to be out of her league. When Wendy asked Barry what movie he would like to see on Friday night, she was flattered beyond belief when he said that he didn’t care. It meant that he just wanted to be with her!

It wasn’t long after the previews and admonition to silence cell phones that Wendy learned that Barry hadn’t voiced an opinion about a movie because he had little interest in watching the movie. He started by holding her hand. She liked that. Then he put his arm around Wendy. She liked that even more. He kissed her, which was her first time and something that she found that she liked most of all. Then he put his hand up her dress and between her thighs.

Wendy was transfixed by shock! She knew what dating was all about, but this was way too much and way too fast! Part of her was conflicted. After all, she really liked Barry. But the rest of her knew that something about this was really wrong.

“What the hell? I don’t like this a bit! Is this what everyone does on a first date? I really like him but…”

”Hell, no!”
Wendy said, jumping up and spilling her popcorn all over Barry’s lap.

Barry grabbed her arm and pulled her down into the theater seat. “What’s the matter?” He hissed into her face. “What are you, some kind of dyke?”

Wendy was no longer the least bit conflicted. She wasn’t going to put up with this from some pimply faced jock.

“I’m not a
dyke
you moron, but sooner a lesbian than have you pawing me, asshole. I’m outta here!”

Barry tried to salvage the situation. “Sssshhh, Wendy. I’m sorry. You just surprised me. I thought you liked me and I well…”

Wendy wasn’t through with letting Barry have it for his indiscretion, but she was willing to lambaste him in a whisper. “You thought I liked you, and that meant that I wanted your hand in my cooch? Is that what you thought?” she hissed.

“Well…yeah.”

Wendy was so over it when Barry said that. She got up and left the theater. It was a three mile walk home, but it took that long for her to settle down. Barry tried once to get her to get in the car so they could “talk about it” on the way home, but one look at the expression on Wendy’s face caused Barry to give it up and let her walk home.